


Long Past Too Far

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, M/M, Nipple Play, Public Blow Jobs, Snowballing, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:26:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not the first Friday afternoon Dad’s kicked him and Sam out of the car by the side of some no-name road, but it’s the first time Dean really hadn’t seen it coming.</p><p>(Sam is 16)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Past Too Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Exaggerated_Specificity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exaggerated_Specificity/gifts).



> A birthday gift for the lovely Exaggerated_Specificity. You make my little corner of fandom such a bright and beautiful place. This is also my first story for SMPC!

“I expect to see you at the Elk Knob picnic area in no more than three days.”

 

It’s not the first Friday afternoon Dad’s kicked him and Sam out of the car by the side of some no-name road, but it’s the first time Dean really hadn’t seen it coming.  His father’s black mood the past few weeks had blocked out his usual focus.  It’s hard enough managing Sam.

 

“Shit,” Sam mutters, his shoulder slumping under his ratty backpack.  His soccer cleats are still mud-spattered and tied to one of the straps.  Dean’s been bored as shit without so much as a minimum-wage garage gig since they rolled into town but Sam’s been keeping busy at his new school. 

 

“What was that, Samuel?”

 

“Yessir.”

 

Sam’s still openly glaring but Dad accepts it for now.  He crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes against the mid-May sun.

 

“You boys need to keep your orienteering skills sharp.”

 

Sam snorts, as sharp as his sweet sixteen hipbones and the seething scorn for their father that always seems to be swimming beneath the surface these days.   

 

Dean keeps quiet as his brain hop-scotches between a thorough inventory of everything he has on him, what he can use to find the life essentials of _water food fire shelter_ out in the North Carolina wilderness _._   At least he already has Sam with him.

 

“I’ll drive by at fourteen-hundred each day until you two manage to find your way back.”

 

“Yes, sir,” they chorus, Sam slinging his backpack onto both shoulders and Dean slumping his hands down into his jacket.  Dad watches as they disappear into the woods.

 

They don’t kiss until they hear the distant rumble of the engine but Sam still smiles against his mouth like they could get caught.

 

~

 

“We’ve slept rougher than this.”

 

Dean tucks his cheek on top of Sam’s head, tugging him in closer.  Sam’s sweatshirt lies balled up behind their heads.  Between that and the soft floor of pine needles at the base of this big ass tree Dean’s pretty comfortable, especially with Sam furnace warm as always under his arm.

 

They’d split Sam’s leftover sandwich, a PBJ with PB on both sides because Dean had made it for him that morning.  Even with a roof over his head Dean’s nodded off with less in his belly and he sighs, content.

 

“Remember that trailer back in Biloxi?”

 

They both shudder.  It had been spitting distance from a mom and daughter that had “entertained visitors” for what passed as a living.  Used rubbers had littered the backyard like some antibiotic-resistant crop of mushrooms and Dean had never heard so much grunting in his life.

 

Sam raises them both up a little as he shrugs.

 

“At least we didn’t have to keep quiet.”

 

Dean grins, nosing down into Sam’s hair.  He doesn’t say it but he likes when Sam’s a little dirty, when his hair smells like sweat and salt and all the things Dean’s licked off him over the years.  All of Sam’s baby soft is wearing off him faster than Dean can chase it, stretching out into something musky and male like that fat dick of Sam’s that seems to get bigger every goddamn day.

 

“God, do you remember when you came right when that guy started screaming ‘you need that D’ over and over?”

 

Sam giggles, silly and carefree and Dean can just catch a glimpse of Sam as he was that night, boy soft and shy with his colt legs and his belly still pudged a little.  No tom catting war cries could have kept Dean from getting hard with Sam’s kit-kat dick rubbing up against him and two of those Barbie-toe fingers sucked into his mouth.

 

“I almost barfed the next time I saw a pack of fucking condoms at a gas station.”

 

“At least she used ‘em.”

 

Sam wrinkles his nose, like Sam has any idea what a condom feels like inside him.

 

It’s just that touch chilly that Dean likes, where he can feel his breath and the warmth of Sam seeping into him.  Sam used to tuck against his hip like a puppy but now the toes of his ripped all-stars scuff against the knob of bone by Dean’s ankle.

 

“You cold, kiddo?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

It’s just cold enough that Dean can feel every hot inch of Sam clambering into his lap, every knee and scrape of those jackrabbit legs spreading around the old hidey-hole of his waist. 

 

 _Illuminated from behind by a light_ floats into Dean’s head, some old song he can’t place as he tilts his head back onto the pillow of Sam’s two-schools ago sweatshirt.  Sam had stolen it from some assmunch in Iowa and Dean had been pretty fucking proud.

 

“Help you warm up.”

 

Dean says it because he has to, because it’s always more fun to tease it out of Sam and hear him roll his eyes.  Sam’s little brother pout has always been the only comfort food he really needs.

 

Sam is wreathed in stars and the heavenward reach of trees that will stand there long after they die.  Dean tilts his head up, up until the back of his head brushes against bark and the haloed mystery of Sam’s face tilts down to him.

 

Sometimes Sam kisses him like he’s little, lips pursed and his eyelashes fluttering, tongue shy inside him.  Sam sucking artlessly on his tongue and kitten quivering around his dick is the closest thing to pure joy Dean has ever known, doesn’t know yet that nothing in his life will ever really compare to it.

 

“Hmm, and how’re you gonna do that, big brother?”

 

Sometimes Sam kisses him like Dean’s not the one who taught him how to do it, every fortnight of puberty wrangling out parts of his mouth that Dean hasn’t fucked yet.  Sam teases him open, tongue prying at the seam of Dean’s lips, hips circling like he should be earning tips.  Sam’s never had champagne before.

 

Sam’s breath ghosts into him, shiver warm as the night’s air hits his flushed cheeks. Sam squeezes him python-hard, bony knees poking out of all that long lean leg, those thighs that widen in Dean’s grip every day.  The gnarled roots under Sam’s knees must be hurting him but that’s never stopped Sam before.  He slips Dean his tongue and ties his cherry stem into knot after knot.  Dean could teach him everything but Sam’ll still find a way to be better at it.

 

“Want you inside me.”

 

He used to bracelet his hands around Sam’s neck-draped ankles but now Dean presses open-handed, palms almost flat as he grabby hands his way up to Sam’s perfect ass.  He hip-grips tight and squeezes Sam hard enough to make him still on Dean’s lap.

 

“Can’t, Sammy.”

 

The closest thing they have to lube is a worn nub of chapstick that’s been intimately acquainted with the pencil shavings and eraser boogers of Sam’s backpack.

 

Dean says no so rarely these days his “I’m in charge while Dad’s away” muscles ache inside him, throbbing along with his cock.  It hurts but these are the twilight days of Sam listening to any damn thing Dean has to say and that soothes him even as his cock weeps for the parts of Sam that are still small.  Sam’s tongue wriggles fat and knowing along the curve of Dean’s jaw before whispering serpent-sinful in his ear.

 

“I’ll get it real wet.”

 

They’ve fucked with less truth be told but not in a long time.  These days Sam just, God, he can fuck back on Dean’s cock like he’s trying to bruise himself on the inside.  It’s terrifying and it makes Dean blow his load so fast it hurts.

 

“Gonna let me see these pretty tits first?”

 

Sam’s got a stubborn streak that’d shame a mule but Dean could distract the devil himself with his mouth.  He runs one hand up under Sam’s shirt, watching it disappear under sweat soft cotton.  Better than any cheerleader Dean could ever feel up, Sam’s eyes slope down and he sighs when Dean cups under the new swell of muscle where Sam’s make-believe tits have always been.

 

Dean swipes his thumb over the familiar nub of Sam’s nipple and drinks in the little sound Sam makes.  Sam can say filthy shit that makes Dean’s insides tangle up but it’s the little puppy noises he lets out when Dean touches him just right that really fuck him up the most.

 

“Get ‘em out for me, sweetheart.”

 

Sam takes his shirt off special when they’re like this.  His arms cross at his waist, fingers tucking into the hem and his lip bit between teeth.  Sam tugs his shirt off at the collar just like their Dad when he’s in the locker room but he pulls it up from the bottom when he’s sitting schoolgirl pretty in Dean’s lap.

 

The fire’s down to the barest flame as Sam’s skin pebbles up in the tree-cut hint of moonlight.  His shirt slides off, leaving Sam’s hair to shag back down in his face.  His arms fall around Dean’s sweetheart neck as he grinds slow against Dean’s cock.

 

Dean cups what he can in the palms of his hands and squeezes, pushing Sam’s chest into pretty-boy cleavage.  There’s more now, new muscle strong but still pliant under big brother hands.  He’s almost a handful now.

 

Sam’s mouth is wet warmth against his own, slippery slick and spilling into him with each little grunt Sam makes.  Dean kneads at his chest, palming at the meat of it and slipping the decade-honed tease of his thumb over Sam’s pert little nipples.  Sam’s getting tan from all his time playing at track star but he’s still baby pink in all the right places.

 

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam huffs, eager to take the Lord’s name in vain when he’s dry humping his brother and urging his little Thumper bunny titties into his mouth.

 

After one good squeeze Dean slides his hands onto the warm plank of Sam’s back, pulling him in closer.  He noses his way to Sam’s nipple, eyes open because even in the dim light he wants to see Sam’s face when he closes his teeth around it and nips a touch too sharp. 

 

Sam can take him pretty square in a fight lately and the little bark he gives when Dean still wins is better than any second base score Dean’s ever sweet-talked from behind some school bleachers.

 

Dean trades his teeth for the soothing swipe of his tongue. 

 

“Just like that, Sammy.”

 

Dean’s hand tucks into the dip of Sam’s still-slim waist, girlfriend-small even if the rest of him’s breaknecking towards quarterback size.  Dean rocks his hips, digging into pine needles and grinding his dick into Sam’s ass on top of him. 

 

Sam’s insides are heaven but it’s still good like this, clothes on and hands everywhere like they’re in the back of the car “asleep” or lingering at the edge of some fifth-grade schoolyard.

 

He kisses his way from one nipple to the other, leaving Sam spit soaked and sensitive on one side and fresh and new for Dean to spoil on the other.  Sam gasps when Dean goes straight in to suck, lips sealing perfect and tug tugging with his cheeks.  It rings lip smackers wet into the empty night air, mingling with the soft noises of other things that live in the dark.

 

Dean slides his hand over Sam’s dick just to feel how hard he is.  He teases the little hiss Sam makes into a full-bore groan when he sucks hard at Sam’s tender little nipple, scraping teeth because Dean always knows how to fight dirty.  He grinds the heel of his hand against Sam’s cock, throbbing fat and angry under Sam’s sweatpants.

 

“Dean, De,” Sam huffs, his hips rucking up to try and get some traction against Dean’s hand.  Dean chuckles against the spit-warm mound of flesh in his mouth as he snatches his hand back to loop both of them up and over Sam’s shoulders.

 

“Make me come suckin’ on these sweet little tits, Sammy.”

 

Mouth full and his cock too hard it sounds more like a grunt than words but Sam understands, as fluent in the woods-wild language of Dean’s body as any intrepid explorer.  Their orienteering skills are just fine.

 

Sam’s legs spill for miles around Dean’s sides but Sam still puppy-huffs with each dip of his ass, little noises in his throat that convey that uniquely Sam combination of frustration and worshipful determination. 

 

Sam used to curl into his lap with the top of his baby-smell head tucked under Dean’s chin and those wages of sin boy hips rubbing off so good against him.  With Dean’s mouth hungry on his tits Sam looms over him, head tossed back to the tree tops like neither of them can keep from growing up even if they’re rooted in something they need.  Dean digs his hand bruise-hard into Sam’s thigh, felling him at the legs for now.

 

Slack-jawed and heaving Dean holds his brother to earth and fucks him.  He doesn’t need to be inside Sam to take it, to pluck down those constellation eyes and run the current of his tongue riverbend strong over the pebbles of Sam’s nipples, grind his barely-bigger-still cock against the tethered weight of Sam until they’re both tripping close.

 

There are noises Sam only makes with a dick in his ass but Dean secretly loves the shocked rush of breath Sam lets out when he comes all over himself without a hand on his cock. 

 

“Fuck, Dean, Dean, fuck,” Sam whines, bitch-pretty and twelve all over again as he spills hot into his underwear.  Dean’s mouth waters, gut curling at the waste but thrilling at Sam’s dirty boy stutter on top of him.  It hurts a little when he comes, trapped between Sam’s petulant weight and the cold seeping into his ass from the ground below. 

 

They have to be quiet so often but now Dean doesn’t mind it.  He grabs Sam like he can still manhandle him and presses his ear to Sam’s chest, listening for the rabbit-kick of Sam’s angry heart.  They breathe together, amber-stuck in shared stillness until Sam sighs his name and sinks back down to earth.

 

The uptick of Sam’s nose presses to his forehead as the forest hums around them.

 

~

 

They’re up at dawn with Dean’s morning wood nudging compass-sure at the crack of Sam’s ass.  Sam sleeps like a rock even when he’s wedged next to one but he’s sighing happy by the time Dean rubs himself off between the sweet peach cleft of his cheeks. He gives Sam a reacharound for old time’s sake.  Just because he smells like last week’s laundry doesn’t mean he can’t be a gentleman.

 

Sam shoves their dirty underwear into his backpack before they start their hike back.  It makes Dean kind of hard thinking about Sam’s straight-A trapper keeper stinking like sex.

 

They find the rest area by 8 AM.  It’s right off the side of the road, with a big bulletin board and best of all, an ancient but fully functional water fountain.  They drink their fill of ice-cold deep well and Sam kisses him wet-lipped in the sunlight.

 

Trouble, beautiful, perfect, illegal, everything – sometimes Sam is so many things it makes Dean’s head spin.  Sam leads him dizzy tipped and giggling to the furthest picnic table, still painfully wholesome for all that it’s set back in a half-shell of trees.

 

“Got some time before Dad’ll be here.” 

 

Sam spins, leading Dean with the surefire bait of his lips as he stumbles backwards. 

 

“Sammy.”

 

Dean pulls back long enough to glance over his shoulder, no more able to say no to Sam when Dad’s asleep a bottle’s throw away than when Sam’s pawing at his shirt in the family-friendly sunshine of a North Carolina morning.  He hunches down, like his body’s still broad enough to shield Sam from prying family eyes.

 

“Shouldn’t,” he tries, not even keeping his mouth off Sam’s before the _t_ trips off his teeth. 

 

“I’m getting kinda hard just looking at you.”

 

Sam’s still (barely) two inches shorter but he always cuts Dean off at the knees.

 

Dean sinks instinct-ready to the ground, lips falling open worship wide at the trace of Sam’s dick chubbing up for him.  Sam’s butt nudges against the picnic table when Dean noses at him.

 

Sam’s whorehouse commando under his sweats and Dean could drown in it.  Sam’s dick slaps up happy against his stomach when Dean tugs his pants down.  His t-shirt’s already so fucked up another smear of precome isn’t going to ruin it but it still makes Dean smile.

 

“All wet for me, sweetheart.”

 

Dean can make anyone wet between their legs but doing it to Sam makes something settle in his bones. 

 

“Dean,” Sam sighs into the sunlight, his toes pointing in and his slim hips rising off the edge of the table while that hide your daughters dick waves in front of him.  Dean skirts past it, breathing hot down the lip stretch length to swipe his tongue filthy over Sam’s balls.  There are so many things wrong with Dean but he finds this one of his most mystifying defects, why Sam smells best to him when he’s fucking nasty and jock itch musky between his legs. 

 

Sam’s dick hefts onto his cheekbone hot and heavy.  God, his face is gonna stink like Sam’s balls and that shouldn’t make him smile so much.  It’s not like Dad’s expecting to pick up two bouquets of roses but he’ll never know that their gym locker waft is from more than honest sweat and hormones.  It’s the kind of micro fuck you that Sam normally goes for but Dean’s not immune to its charms.

 

“C’mon, Dean.”

 

Sam’s thumb quivers along his jaw, playing at insistence.  He could choke Dean out on his sweet sixteen cock but he always waits for Dean, doe-trembling out of all that bravado the second Dean’s within spitting distance.  Sam hasn’t realized that he’s wild at heart yet but Dean can smell it as sure as the sighing trees and the sweet secret of Sam’s jizz-sticky dick.

 

One hand circling around that big little brother cock, Dean turns to tease the tip of Sam’s thumb into his mouth.  With his eyes on Sam he drags against it, willing Sam to hold it in place and hold him open.  He’s rewarded with another girl-gush from Sam’s cock onto the tongue tip of his fuck me willing mouth.

 

“Take it, Sammy.”

 

His mouth’s too stretched for his tongue to hit his palate but Sam’s eyes still narrow at the jumbled syllables.  His fingers curl up to meet his thumb, clutching into Dean’s jaw to feed him his cock.  Dean grabs double-handed onto Sam’s fuck handle hips and tugs, greedy for the drown-out slam of Sam’s cock against his throat.

 

The whole thing used to fit Blowpop pretty into Dean’s mouth, little balls too and Sam would giggle-squirm at the spit that trickled onto his babydoll thighs.  With his jaw thumb-pried open Dean can barely take Sam to the base now, need-you tears stinging into his eyes.

 

Dean’s cock jumps when Sam slams home, riding right past his newly-tested gag reflex.  A bird chirps chipper cheerful right when Dean makes the most fuck hot disgusting choking sound and Sam groans “Oh, God.”

 

Damp earth seeps into his knees as he digs blunt-edge fingernails into the bell curve of Sam’s ass, spurring Sam from colt shy to rein his hand on Dean’s head.  Dean keeps himself tense long enough to get his dick out and tucked into his dirty hand, some big brother instinct niggling at him not to ruin his jeans completely until they’re safely back near the perma-home of their shared duffle bag. 

 

Sam’s still got a good smear of spit soaking into the ball-slung waistband of his sweatpants but it could be sweat if it had to be.  Sam fucks back into his mouth and Dean adds another coughed up rope of cock spit to the mess.  His shirt’s not making it out of this in good shape either.

 

Dean’s hand flies clumsily over his dick, his own pleasure an afterthought when Sam’s fucking his mouth like he’s got a down payment on it.  The little “Yeah, fuck” murmurs Sam lets out are the same ones Dean makes when he’s turning Sam’s candy prize asshole out in some shitty motel room.  Dean taught him well. 

 

No matter where Sam sticks his dick he’ll always have a piece of his brother in him. 

 

He tries to moan back but it’s all garbled around the blunt insistence of Sam’s cock.  Wet-faced and jacking himself like he’s trying to beat Sam to the finish line, Dean slumps into the press of Sam’s thumb still holding his mouth open and wills himself open for every growth spurt inch of Sam. 

 

Dean’s life is dangerous but he only takes real risks for Sam.  In the open air public of federal bulletin boards and Smokey Bear signs Dean sucks his brother’s cock like the king of truck stop glory boys, dirty wet and so loud the local fauna have gone suspiciously silent.  Sam’s into it now, couldn’t stop if a church bus parked right next to his furious hips.  Dean can barely breathe and it’s just them now, wet and hard and fucked to the base because Dean can take Sam better than any next-town girlfriend ever will.  Dad could cock his gun to Dean’s temple and he’d just pull Sam closer.

 

Sam gasps his name and fucks so far into Dean’s throat he sees stars and fuck, he’s not sure whose dick is harder.  One-two-choke and Dean creams over his own hand in a rush, his fucking asshole clenching he comes so hard.  His stomach flips, sick with himself, sick with how hard his whore’s heart beats for Sam’s fat dick and his hard hands holding him down.  Sam could fill up every rotten inch of him and it wouldn’t be enough. 

 

He’s spent so long ruining Sam it’s nice to have the favor returned.

 

“Oh God, fuck, Dean.”

 

Sam sounds half-strangled himself when his cock twitches and spurts onto the raw red of Dean’s tongue.  Sam used to twitch out a little bath bubble of baby jizz but now he floods Dean’s mouth boy creamy and thick.

 

“Don’t, don’t swallow it.”

 

Dean’s throat screams and his heart bursts with loathsome pride.  Sam’s a filthy motherfucker even if Dean keeps finding new-grown clean bits of him to muddy up.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Knees cracking with all the dogs’-years of Dean’s life he stands up, straight as his dizzy head will let him so he can fill in all the panting spaces around Sam.  With his hips canting forward and his shoulders slumped down Sam quivers, spent, gorgeous.

 

Dean crowds into him, pushing rough until Sam’s back is flat on the picnic table, sunshine dappling his messy hair and his eyes shining orchard bright.  Come pools in Dean’s mouth and paints his knuckles and he’s going to get all of it inside Sam if it kills him.

 

He slots his clean hand under Sam’s chin, catching the delicate jut of it with the roughened skin between his thumb and forefinger.  He doesn’t need to squeeze to get Sam’s mouth open for him but it makes them both groan.  Sam’s prettiest when he’s roughed up a little.

 

It’s not a kiss but it makes Dean’s chest skip-thud like one when he purses his fucked-full lips and spits Sam’s load back into his pretty boy mouth.  Sam swallows, open-mouthed and lips trembling, eyes so wide and willing to take anything Dean gives him. 

 

“I got you, Sammy.”

 

Dean sinks his weight onto Sam’s chest, the planks of the picnic table digging into his braced forearm as he licks greedy into Sam’s perfect filthy mouth.  He keeps his hand on Sam’s jaw as he rears up, letting Sam watch as he licks cat-lazy at his own come-smeared hand and God bless all of Sam’s sixteen years on earth, his cock’s getting fat again already. 

 

He lifts his head, straining against Dean’s hand and huffing out a whine.  Dean teases him mercilessly but he loves Sam the best when he’s being a needy little slut, that slip of tongue writhing out to chase the taste of sex out of Dean’s mouth.  Dean gives in, always, any will he can wring out of his body little more than show when it comes down to it. 

 

Sam kisses hungry, tongue sweeping and lips sucking like he can fuck Dean’s mouth in reverse.  Sam can have all of it, they both know it. 

 

“Taste so fucking good,” Dean grunts, wet everywhere their bodies stick together, a beast with two backs against the world. 

 

“We could just stay here.”

 

Sam says crazy shit sometimes, when they’re lip-stuck together and Dad’s shadow isn’t blocking out the endless furl of Sam’s rebellious radiance.  Dean kisses him quiet, closing his eyes as something braver than he is flaps its wings and flies out of the treetops.

 

His stomach saves him, growling rudely against Sam.

 

“I need a fucking burger.”

 

Sam’s smile doesn’t hit his eyes but he doesn’t take them off Dean as he tucks himself back in.

 

“And some lube.”

 

Dean cracks his back and winks, like Sam would fall for his shameless waitress bait.  He gets a shove from Sam’s sharp elbow and the distant chatter of an approaching family.  Sam stretches before rubbing his face off on his t-shirt, giving Dean one last glimpse of his tantalizingly filthy stomach. 

 

They’re both so grimy Dean can feel Sam’s sweat dripping down his neck.  It makes his skin itch but his soul is settled, tempered by the temporary quench of Sam in his belly.  He breathes in, sucking down brother sweat and southern sunshine until his chest heaves and his smile spreads across his face despite Sam’s best, beautiful bitch face.

 

“Let’s go wait for Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quotes from "Flying Cowboys" by Rickie Lee Jones.
> 
> [Tumblr post here!](http://saltandbyrnefic.tumblr.com/post/141517466509/long-past-too-far-for-exaggeratedspecificity-its)


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